In LA
by DiamondTopaz
Summary: Takes place before "Alive And Well And Living In" by TrenchcoatsAreSexy. After fleeing ABQ, Jesse and Jane abandon their New Zealand plan and somehow wind up in Los Angeles, where they learn an unplanned baby is on the way. Jesse is thrilled, but Jane finds herself having to face not only her addiction, but also a high-risk pregnancy and her doubts about Jesse as a life partner.
1. Conception

**In LA**

**_2 Weeks_**

_Why? How?_

The traffic raced by passively on the darkened LA street. Jane's shadow crept up behind her crestfallen figure, merged with her, then elongated to jeer her from the front with each streetlight she trudged past on the sidewalk. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she stopped in front of a familiar door, marked only with a tarnished brass 4.

_When did we…? There's just no way… _She opened the door and proceeded into the modest apartment she shared with her boyfriend. A pungent scent filled the air. A vaporous smoke wafted around a chair in the living room, occupied by Jesse.

Her life had been a whirlwind since their first meeting on the day he'd rented the duplex she'd managed. She'd known from the get-go he was holding, though he'd seemed to think he was doing a stellar job of hiding it. She'd also known letting him sign that lease, let alone getting involved with him, were the last things she should have done. Her past had already been a web of entanglements with dealers and men who used. In her year and a half of sobriety, she'd made sure going down that road again had remained the furthest thing from her mind.

She'd surprised even herself, then, to end up in his bed (well, first on his floor, then on his still-shrinkwrapped new mattress, _then _in his bed) not a week later. She'd told herself at first it was just a walk back on the wild side—a little harmless playing with fire they'd both eventually tire of.

But Jesse had proven to be more than just a walk back on the wild side. Despite his illicit profession he was a kid at heart, a chivalrous gentleman even, and barely the street-savvy bad boy she'd expected. And instead of tiring of her, he had this annoyingly endearing habit of growing fonder every day. So, at some ambiguous point when she wasn't looking, it had stopped being a fling and started being a relationship.

From then on, everything had happened in drug-addled flashes. The relapse into heroin. Getting caught by her father. Blackmailing Jesse's old partner for his share of the profits from a drug deal. Driving off the morning after, saying they were bound for New Zealand, but somehow eventually ending up in LA, instead.

And now this.

She brooded on her current situation…a situation she had discovered only half an hour ago in the nearest gas station bathroom. A situation for which she could think of at least a dozen people who would be better equipped than her.

"Yo…" Jesse drawled. "You have _got _to try this shit." His hand waved towards the source of the smoke, smoldering in an ashtray beside him.

"Not now." She sat across from him with a grave expression. "We have to talk."

"What's the matter?" Jesse grinned, his eyes dilated.

In his fanciful mind, before him sat a luminous angel from beyond this world…all the stars of the sky in her midnight black hair. Each of her long fingernails was painted with an entire galaxy. Her flowing robe was composed of the silvery stardust of a speeding comet.

Instead of "I'm pregnant," he heard her say, "I've come to take you home to the planet Pluto."

And he laughed. As the angel drifted away before him, he continued laughing.

**(***)**

A few hours later, the room became less celestial, the surroundings more mundane. Jesse was coming down from one of the most intense trips in his hallucinogenic history. He thought he'd built up an immunity to weed long ago…but that was the great thing about Cali; so many new things to try, and so few people to judge you for it. It had been Jane's idea to come here after the whole New Zealand thing fell through. He was almost glad it did.

He vaguely remembered Jane coming home while he was high. She had said something, hadn't she? He struggled to remember. Something that sounded like…

"Jane!" He catapulted out of the chair. "Jane?!" he called again into the silent apartment.

The bathroom light was on. He drew towards it and found her inside. She was sitting on the lid of the toilet, her head hung so that her hair trailed to her knees. A needle lay waiting by the bathroom sink, still unused.

"Yo, Jane," he began. "Did you…did you just tell me you were…?"

She nodded without looking up. "Not so funny now, is it?"

He swore. "Baby, I'm so sorry." He rubbed her shoulder, taking a seat on the edge of the tub across from her. "I didn't mean to…that stuff I was burning, I didn't think it'd be like that." He fumbled for the right words. "If I knew what you were about to say, I wouldn't have…"

She straightened up, adopting an apathetic disposition. "I wasn't really mad about that." A side glance at the needle. "It's just, I know we were gonna get clean anyway, at some point. But we were supposed to do it on _our _terms. This is only going to make everything harder."

"You think that? But Jane, we've been talking about sobering up ever since we left Albuquerque," Jesse retorted. "Now we got a real reason to!"

Jane returned her gaze to him, clearly not sharing his enthusiasm. "So…what, Jesse? Now that we're having a baby, we should just flush everything, check into rehab tomorrow, and become Mom and Dad of the year?"

There was that childlike lopsided smile and those glistening blue eyes as he nodded. "Something like that, yeah."

Jane scoffed, and Jesse took both her hands in his.

"I mean, think about it," he continued. "Remember why we bailed outta ABQ in the first place?"

"To get a fresh start, out from under Dad's prying eyes and that Walter White guy's iron fist," she recalled.

"Your dad just didn't get you," he remarked. "And for me, it was everybody. Mr. White, my parents…nothing I ever did was good enough for any of them."

"Yeah, but me squeezing out this kid wouldn't change all that," she protested.

"Probably not. But you and me, we'll raise our kid right. We'll give him all the support and, like, the appreciation we never had, ya feel me?"

She still looked unconvinced. "How do you know? What makes you so sure we'd be any good at this?"

"Money's no problem; we still got plenty left from the deal," he reasoned. "And, I just feel like as long as we got each other, we can do anything, you know?"

A deep sigh served as her concession. "Godammit…alright. Tomorrow morning, we'll look in the yellow pages for a rehab facility to check into."

Jesse reached over and opened the top drawer of the bathroom vanity, slid the forgotten needle inside and shut it. With it safely out of sight and out of mind, he pulled Jane up into a hug. "We're gonna get through this, alright?"

"Remind me of that when I have morning sickness and ankles the size of an elephant's."


	2. First Trimester

**_8 Weeks_**

"_'Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.'_" Jane recited aloud the poem printed on a poster on the door as they exited the rehab facility. There was a sardonic twinge in her otherwise cheerful voice as she and Jesse stepped out—side by side—into the rainy, late April night. "Well, at least it didn't say _'Today is the first day of the rest of your life.'_" She opened an umbrella, which they both huddled under on their short walk to his car. "Heard enough of that mantra my first stay in rehab."

"I always thought that one was for jails," Jesse remarked. Virtually pressed up against her side under the umbrella's shelter, he reached for her hand. Their fingers interlaced, and she gave his a playful squeeze.

"Why am I not surprised by that?" she teased.

He affectionately stroked the cool, slender hand in his grasp with his thumb tip. Even the dark, rainy evening couldn't dampen his mood; as far as he was concerned, it may as well have been the first day of summer.

They'd done it. They'd beaten the odds and kicked their addiction together. Mentally, he flipped a victorious bird to his parents, Mr. White, and anyone else who'd thought he'd never amount to more than a junkie bum. If they could just see him now, sobered up and about to bring a new life into the world with the girl of his dreams…actually, they probably still wouldn't care. All they'd see is two recovering addicts—one misstep away from a relapse—and their bastard kid. But they didn't matter anymore…only _she _mattered. Her and the baby.

He looked at Jane out of the corner of his eye, focusing especially on her belly. It was still too early on for the telltale baby bump, but every time he looked at her, he could swear he saw both her and their future child. Without them, he wasn't sure if this day of rehabilitation would ever have come. They were his world.

As if to beat the raindrops, Jesse raced around to the driver's side of the car, got in and promptly unlocked the passenger door for Jane. She embarked, shook off her collapsed umbrella and shut the door. A turn of the keys summoned the blare of a hip-hop track through the speakers. The windshield wipers began their labor, and the car was on its way.

"Can't wait to get home," Jane proclaimed at the next stoplight.

"Me either," Jesse agreed without taking his eyes off the street.

"My hormones have been on a Tilt-A-Whirl, and it was nearly impossible to get any time to ourselves there. All those nurses and counselors looking over our shoulder," she added.

"I know, right?"

A moment of silence passed. Jane continued to eye Jesse as he drove.

"I can't wait until we get home," she repeated more slowly.

He gave her a sideways glance. As if he'd read her mind—or at least thought the idea was his own—he pulled off the street into the nearest parking lot. They delved into each other the instant the car shifted to Park, bombarded by the ongoing patter of raindrops overhead.

**(***)**

Tension relieved, engine on and defroster running, the couple resumed their journey home. Jane examined her reflection in the visor mirror, adjusting her bra straps and straightening her hair.

"I've been thinking about calling Dad," she announced.

"Wait, what?" It was all Jesse could do not to slam the brake in shock. To say they hadn't parted on the best terms with Donald Margolis was like saying they'd "mildly inconvenienced" Mr. White with a blackmail threat.

Jane shrugged. "Well, we can't dodge him forever."

"Why not?" Jesse protested. "That was the plan when we first headed out for New Zealand."

A sigh. "New Zealand," she reminisced. "You do realize that never would have worked, right? We were desperate, and we were too high to think straight. In between airport security and customs—not to mention the New Zealand currency exchange—_someone _was bound to ask questions."

"Okay, maybe you got a point," he conceded. "But things still worked out pretty good here in Cali, right? I just can't see your dad being too happy when he…y'know…finds out we…"

"Are doing just fine? Got sobered up all on our own?" Jane offered.

"Don't forget having a kid," he reminded her.

She bit her lip. "Yeah. That, too." Her back pressed against the car seat and her head craned up to gawk at the car ceiling. "Well, I can ease him into that part after we get through the first pleasantries."

He forced a laugh. "Heh, sure, that'll be a pleasant conversation alright."

"Well, now that we've started getting our shit together, I think it's the right thing to do. Sure, he's like military police and K-9 rolled into one, but he _is _my dad; I owe him an explanation." She looked straight at Jesse. "If _our _child disappeared for two months, you'd want to hear they were okay, right?"

He clenched his teeth at that unsettling perspective. Again she had a point, and she pulled no punches making it. "'Course I would," he agreed. "So, when did you wanna talk to him? Tonight?"

A pause. "Tomorrow," she replied. "Albuquerque _is _an hour ahead. And, it gives me a chance to figure out where to start."

He nodded amusedly. "Though, pretty sure we can rule out 'Guess what; I got knocked up by the stoner next door'."


	3. First Trimester (cont)

**_8 Weeks (cont.)_**

The next morning, Jane woke up from a good night's sleep only her own bed could offer. She wrung free of a still-snoozing Jesse's arms, dressed only in his T-shirt sporting a skull sticking its tongue out. Running a hand through her bedhead-ravaged hair, she ventured into the kitchen. After her six-week absence, the coffee pot on the kitchen counter never looked so inviting.

While the pot started to brew she leaned against the counter, cell phone in hand. She gazed at it in doubt. It was already after eight here, which made it after nine in ABQ. Even after sleeping on it, she still had no idea how to open this conversation with her father. Ultimately, she decided to just dial and let the words come to her on their own.

She made the call. The phone rang once.

"Dad, pick up," she mumbled to herself.

Another ring.

"C'mon, don't make me spill my guts your voicemail."

The third ring was cut short by the phone being picked up. "…Hello?" an unsure voice began.

"Hey, Dad," Jane acknowledged.

A long exhale followed, then silence. Jane couldn't discern if it was anger or relief at the other end of the line, until Donald finally spoke again. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. We're fine."

"'We'?" Donald repeated. "I take it _he_'s still around, then."

"Jesse and I just completed rehab last night," Jane replied.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. We're off drugs—both of us."

He followed with the question that had been on the forefront of his mind for the past two months. "Where the hell are you, Jane?"

"Los Angeles."

"Since when?"

"Since we drove here after you caught us that morning."

"I see. So, explain why you thought it was necessary to worry me sick for two months straight, vanish off the face of the Earth with not so much as a phone call, and then drop a line out of the blue just to tell me you're alive and well living in L.A., where you did the exact thing you should have done here to begin with."

By this point, the coffee pot was done. Jane paid an exorbitant amount of attention to her freshly poured cup and the milk and sugar she stirred in, while mustering the next words. "…We…had…a little extra incentive to get clean once we got here," she finally managed.

"Like what?"

_Nothing beats the first taste of coffee in the morning_, she thought while pulling the mug back from her lips. "…Like, we're about to have a baby."

She had to yank the phone away from her ear in response to the loud clatter of him dropping his phone. A few seconds and one coffee sip later, Donald returned to the line.

"J-Jane," he spluttered. "Are you absolutely sure about that?"

"I'm eight weeks along, and I saw a doctor while I was in rehab…so yeah, pretty sure."

"And it's…"

"Yes, Dad; it's Jesse's."

"Are we simply going to ignore the fact that _he_ got you hooked again in the first place?" her father demanded.

"He didn't—that was both our faults," she admitted. "Jesse always warned me to leave the apartment any time I risked relapsing. One night, I just decided not to. That's all."

Her father hesitated. "That's the closest to accepting responsibility I've heard you come in a long time," he admitted. "But Jane…you don't even know this guy."

"I know that if it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't have gotten sober," she retorted.

"Or pregnant," he shot back.

"Well, it is what it is, Dad," Jane contested. "We didn't plan on things working out this way, but since they did, we're making it work."

"You say that now, but what about later on down the road?"

At that moment, the subject of their discussion ambled into the kitchen sleepily and deposited a kiss on her shoulder, then gratefully retrieved the coffee pot to pour his own cup. Jesse wore only a pair of parachute pants, leaving all his tattoos from the waist up fully visible.

"In five years, in ten, this person will still be the father of your child," Donald warned. "I hope that makes you happy."

At this, Jane found herself without words. As she watched Jesse blow the top of his mug and take a sip, she hoped it did, too.

"I gotta go," she concluded. "Talk to you soon." With that, the call ended.

Jesse looked up from his coffee. "Was he mad?"

"Livid. He went on about how he couldn't believe how selfish I was, leaving him to worry for weeks on end. Then he threatened to castrate you when I told him about our little project," she joked, and rubbed her stomach absentmindedly. "Almost made me homesick."

"Really?"

"Hell no, not really." She rummaged in a nearby drawer for something. "But it was good to finally get everything out in the open." Unable to find what she sought in the drawer, she made her way into the living room, coffee in hand.

Her father had brought up a point she'd managed to avoid thus far. _Was _she happy this was happening? God knows she never saw it coming; it was nearly impossible to trace how they'd gotten here in the maze of twists and turns between leasing to "Jesse Jackson" and this moment. On one hand, rehab wasn't the quick fix her father seemed to think it was. Reciting motivational poster captions and getting patted on the back by counselors only got her so far. Maybe Jesse and this baby were exactly what she needed to stay on the wagon for good this time.

On the other hand…Jesse. Sweet, oblivious, well-meaning Jesse. As much as she liked him, nobody at the rehab facility had failed to notice he'd acted far more enthusiastic to tackle parenthood than she had. Was she really ready to settle down into this commitment? And with him—the "stoner next door" she had only ever intended as a tenant with a side helping of friends-with-benefits?

She found what she was looking for in the living room in an end table drawer: a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Slender white stick in hand, she flicked her thumb across the lighter's ignition.

"Hold up." Jesse's hand shot out to halt Jane by the wrist. The lighter's flame went out. "What are you doing?"

Jane blinked dubiously. She hadn't even noticed him following her into the room "…Having a smoke?"

"Whoa, whoa, no," he protested. "What about the baby?"

"Oh, will you relax? I'm not due until December," she rebutted.

"Jane, we gotta give our kid the best start from early on," Jesse insisted. "Don't you want him to be as healthy as possible? 'Coz I sure as hell don't want him born already having, I dunno, gingivitis or some shit."

She gave an odd combination of a scoff and a smirk only she could pull off. "I seriously doubt that'll happen, seeing as gingivitis is a gum disease," she remarked. "I'm not swallowing chewing tobacco whole here."

"But we—I mean both of us—we were still using until we found out about the baby. We coulda already given him all kinds of problems. Now that we're clean, I don't wanna take any more chances." He eyed her cup. "And you _are_ already drinking coffee, you know."

"So? The doctor at the clinic said one cup a day is no big deal," she argued.

"Yeah, and what did he say about smoking? This is our kid we're talking about, yo!"

"Fine." She exhaled and released the cigarette pack. "No more smoking."

"Trust me, it's for the best," he assured her. He took the pack and lighter from her, then vanished into the kitchen.

She heard him step on the trash can foot pedal, rip open the cigarettes one by one and sprinkle their contents into the trash. Soon after, she heard the fridge opening and the clanking of glass bottles being removed. Four caps were popped in succession, then there was a gushing of liquid down the sink. Finally, Jesse returned to the living room and sat beside her.

"You didn't have to get rid of everything," she told him. "I don't care if _you_ smoke or drink, as long as it isn't in front of me."

"Fair's fair," he said. "If you have to give up all the last legal drugs, I should too."

She leaned in, cupped his jawline in both her hands and expressed her gratitude in the form of a kiss. "Thanks, Baby."

**(***)**

Later that day, while taking the trash out, Jane noticed a fresh cigarette butt on the front stoop. It was half-smoked, as though in haste, squashed and kicked aside just barely visible off the path.

She shifted the garbage bag in her hand, the sound of empty beer bottles rattling within, and kept walking without a second glance at the cigarette. She didn't ask Jesse to quit smoking, after all. He wasn't the one who had to give birth.


	4. Second Trimester

**_20 Weeks_**

_So, this is five months pregnant._

Standing before the bathroom mirror, Jane raised her sack-like maternity shirt up to her diaphragm and stared blankly at her reflection. First she faced the mirror straight on, then turned to the side, and finally pivoted back to the front. She sunk her head down to look at her distended stomach. It seemed to be inflating more every day. She shifted her hands in circles around the conspicuous bulge like a potter molding clay.

_So, this is the 'miracle of life.'_

Footsteps approached. An additional pair of hands covered hers, entwined with her fingers, and ushered her hands just above her navel. She looked up into the mirror to see Jesse standing behind her, embracing the fullest part of her and resting his cheek on her back.

"You look great," he told her, pressing his lips to her neck and then turning sideways to meet her reflection's gaze.

"Shut up." With a weak smile, Jane dropped her shirt and reached for a bottle from the ever-expanding pharmacy by the sink. Prenatal vitamins. Tylenol. Half a dozen other pills her doctor had prescribed over the past five months and she had accepted with scarcely a nod. She wondered how many of them actually did what they were supposed to do. The irony wasn't lost on her that she was putting more unknown substances in her body now than she had _before_ rehab…the difference being now she almost constantly felt like a plane wreck.

"Breakfast is ready. I made you oatmeal. The box says it has, like, seven essential minerals, so that's good, right?" Jesse posed to her.

She swallowed a prenatal vitamin half the size of her thumb and chased it with water. "Mmm-hmm."

"There's orange juice, too," he went on. "Fresh-squeezed. You never know what kinda chemicals go into the carton stuff, so I figured better be safe than—"

"Sounds good. Be out in a sec."

Once his reflection vanished out the side of the mirror, she leaned in and morosely pressed her fingertips along the dark circles under her eyes. She couldn't remember her last good night's sleep. If it wasn't morning sickness or a sudden urge to pee, it was those dogged withdrawal symptoms that still managed to claw their way to the surface. The aches, the insomnia, the depression…there were still nights she sat up in the living room, pouring her lamentations into her sketchbook, cringing and crying. She let the tears spill freely during those times. Better _then_ than when Jesse was awake.

She hated when Jesse caught her crying. He always blew it entirely out of proportion, smothering her with a saccharine "What's wrong, Sweetie? Are you okay?" Then he always had to swoop in and "fix it," and he never relented until she smiled for him. She didn't hate his intentions, but he just didn't understand. Bouncing back from addiction had been easier for him, in part because he wasn't recovering for two, and in part because he still got to smoke. Never in front of her, of course, but she still knew. The evidence was all over their parking space and doorstep. She'd smelled it on his clothes, even tasted it in his kiss a few times.

Though it made her want to wash all his cigarettes down the garbage disposal and demand he get on the freaking patch already, she held her tongue. He was in recovery, too, and she had said she didn't mind the smoking. In all that had happened leading up to this point, she had still maintained the visage of the cool, passive Jane who had leased to him back in Albuquerque half a year ago. She was determined to hang onto that part of her as long as possible.

She opened the top right drawer of the bathroom sink—where she kept her makeup—and rummaged for a powder compact to conceal the detestable dark circles under her eyes. Towards the back of the drawer, like a scorpion poised to deliver its lethal sting, she found a familiar needle.

There was a punch to her gut, which erupted into butterflies in her stomach. How had they missed this? She thought they'd gotten rid of all the drugs when they were packing for rehab the morning after her positive pregnancy test. She froze in place, staring at the needle in shock and exhilaration for a moment.

"Yo, you coming?" Jesse called from the kitchenette. "That appointment _is_ at ten, right?"

She slammed the drawer shut. "Coming," she called and swept out of the bathroom.

**(***)**

"You sure you don't want me to come in with you?" Jesse asked Jane in the parking lot of the OB/GYN office, where they'd spent so much time by now that he practically had the waiting room magazines memorized. "This is kind of a big step. Didn't the doc say last time that today we could find out if it's a boy or girl? I mean, either way is cool, but—"

"Like you haven't had your fingers crossed," Jane noted. "You've been calling it a 'him' since Day One."

He blinked upon this realization. "I was?"

She nodded. "You've got better things to do today, anyway," she pointed out. "Lee brought up a good point last night. Even if your 'inheritance' is holding up well, you still should think about looking for a job, if only to get out of the house and get to know people in the town we live in."

Lee was the counselor who hosted their support group meetings. He had a long ash-blonde ponytail, a scruffy beard, and the stereotypical laid-back surfer dude appearance associated with California by the rest of the nation. Jesse wouldn't be surprised if Lee suspected "inheritance" didn't really mean "inheritance," but thankfully he adopted a "to each his own" policy with his group's personal lives.

"You're just agreeing with him to get rid of me, aren't you?" Jesse gave an exaggerated pout.

"That," Jane winked, "Or it could just be that we're not junkies anymore, so we may as well quit _living _like junkies."

There she had him. "Whoa, just think, though," he mused. "Me, with a real job that pays in checks for a change."

"You'll have to join the twenty-first century and open a bank account," she added. "Maybe even get this great new thing called a debit card."

"Worth a shot."

Jane glanced at her watch. "Well, about time for the next round of poking and prodding to commence." She pecked him on the cheek before getting out of the car, with a call of "Good look job-hunting!" over her shoulder as she made her way into the doctor's.

With her out of sight, Jesse yanked the driver's seat visor down. A pack of cigarettes tumbled into his lap from above the visor. He popped one between his lips and set it ablaze as he exited the parking lot, window rolled down and puffs of smoke venting out. There were apologies and guilt in every exhale. He knew he'd promised Jane he'd quit, and he knew he _should_. But she wasn't the only one on whom last few months had been hard.

There was no question he loved her. Jesse loved Jane with every breath of him. She was everything to him.

And that was exactly the problem: she was _literally _everything to him. She had been right about getting out of the house. Apart from the frequent OB/GYN checkups and support group meetings, they remained—on the whole—confined to a 750-square-foot apartment made up of a bedroom, bathroom, living room and kitchenette. Even the checkups and meetings were mostly attended together. They quickly ran out of things to say to each other when "How was your day?" wasn't among them, and when "How's the baby?" yielded one-word responses.

Jane still only liked to talk about the baby to a certain extent. Jesse guessed it was because she wanted to feel like a person, and not just some cocoon for little humans.

He, by contrast, wished he could brag to everyone he knew that he was going to be a father. He could only imagine what his posse back in ABQ would say. Badger would fist-bump him and whoop, "Right on! 'Achievement Unlocked,' playa!" Skinny Pete would declare this an occasion for cigars, and call up a buddy who could hook them up with the good kind. In all the excitement, maybe the two wouldn't even ask why he hadn't spoken to them since Combo died.

He steered his mind away from Combo. That was one of those triggers he'd learned to avoid in rehab.

Instead, his thoughts landed on the one other person for whom he had lingering regrets: Mr. White. What would his old partner say to him now? Assuming he'd even speak to Jesse, after that whole blackmail stunt the latter had reluctantly agreed to. Sure, there'd be a first wave of the usual bullshit. "Did no one ever teach you the simple procedure of taking a condom out of its package? I shudder for the future of any spawn of yours. God knows _you're _no reliable source of homework help, and blah blah blah."

Jesse flicked the exhausted cigarette butt out the car window.

But then, sometimes, the old teacher did manage to offset the sea of judgment and criticisms with the odd droplet of encouragement. Maybe he'd go so far as to impart some of his own brand of supportive advice. Like, "If this doesn't straighten you out, nothing will. Just remember to keep the infant laying on the side in the crib."

Crib. They still had to buy one of those. Well, after Jane's appointment today, they'd know for sure whether to go with blue baby stuff or pink.

The hatchback came to a stop on a downtown LA street. Trying not to dwell on how familiar this situation was, he scanned the shops and businesses along the street for "Now Hiring" signs.


	5. Second Trimester (cont)

**_20 Weeks (cont.)_**

"The manager's out of town."

"We're not hiring, try back during the holiday season."

"Sorry, we actually just had to let some people go, we were so overstaffed."

The rest of the morning was a chorus of more ways to get turned down than Jesse ever knew existed. His backseat was littered with printed applications and business cards directing him to websites when he made his way back to pick Jane up from the doctor.

The only thing that had come close to a "maybe" was a very niche coffee shop, whose windows had been plastered with trendy phrases like "Fair trade coffee" and "100% Organic." Inside, the tables had been populated by college kids, most of them transfixed on Macbooks ("working on a novel," he could only guess) with lattes in environmentally friendly, recycled paper cups at their sides. A tattooed, teal-haired barista going by Dominica had given him an application and said they weren't hiring now, but they keep all applicants on file for one year.

Jane knocked on the passenger window. When Jesse let her in, he saw she had a manila envelope in hand with a lump at the bottom.

"Any luck?" she asked while fastening her seatbelt.

"Not sure yet. This one coffee shop might be hiring soon. They said there's an art student working there now, but he's talking about transferring to San Francisco or something in the spring. So, there could be an opening coming up," Jesse summarized.

"In the spring semester?" Her smile shrank. "That's over four months from now."

"I know, but it's something."

"You should keep at it, look some more tomorrow. Look some more this afternoon, even," Jane suggested. "L.A.'s a big city; sure you'll find something sooner than that."

"Yeah, well, we'll see how it goes. What's in there?" He tapped the corner of the envelope.

"Hmm? Oh." She passed it to him. "Thought you might like to have this."

He opened the envelope and shook out the lumpy item at the bottom.

"Found that in the clinic gift shop," she explained. "The standard rule still applies: not in front of me."

It was a single cigar wrapped in plastic, with a pink paper ring around it sporting a plain yet potent phrase in frilly white letters.

"'It's A Girl,'" he read softly. His eyes shifted slowly to Jane. "It's a girl," he repeated. A flood of words, thoughts and emotions brimmed up inside him at once, but they seemed to get stuck in his throat.

"And, she's perfectly healthy," Jane continued. "Check it out." She waved at the envelope, which still had a flat piece of photo paper within.

He slid it out, and there she was. The ultrasound photo was all blurry and gray, but he could definitely make out the shape of a baby curled up in the womb. This was her.

"That's your daughter," Jane's voice announced somewhere in his periphery. "They reminded me for the millionth time to stay on the wagon, drink plenty of fluids and keep taking my vitamins, but everything looks good so far."

Nothing she said registered after the first three words: "That's your daughter." The hinges of his mind creaked just trying to fathom that one fact. _This was his daughter. _He traced the silhouette of her little eyes, nose and ears. His jaw refused to close. _His. Daughter._

"Holy Christ, Jane…" He dragged the back of his fist across his eyes, squeezing them shut temporarily. Without removing his gaze from the picture, he reached to the passenger side and felt blindly for his partner's hand. She bestowed it, and he gave an impassioned squeeze.

"This," he waved the image slightly, "is what the last couple months have been all about. Everything we've been through, Babe…this is the reason for it. Right here."

A silence, then she responded, "I know."

**(***)**

Back home, Jesse pinned the ultrasound photo by a magnet to the fridge, in the top left corner to save room for the many other photos and crayon drawings that were bound to follow soon.

He heard Jane rush into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. The faucet sprang to life, and a drawer was rolled open. It sounded like she could be in there for awhile.

The cigar twirled around in his hand, reminding him with its single cheery caption that "it's a girl." This seemed as good a time as any to smoke it. Maybe it would have been more traditional to do it on his daughter's actual birthday…but he definitely planned on quitting by then. Hell, maybe this could be his last smoke—that would be historic.

He opened the nearest window to blow the stench safely into the outside air, while still able to look in adoration at the photo. With the cigar tip glowing, he lifted it slightly at their first baby picture in a toast of sorts.

"Here's to you, um…" he trailed off. "…Er, princess," he finished clumsily, then drew in the first puff of smoke and exhaled out the window. Now that she had a gender and a face, it was about time for a name. As the cigar gradually reduced to a stub between drags, he started to sift through a few options in his head.

Finally, he crushed the remains of the cigar into an ashtray. Choosing a name was one of those milestones he and Jane had to discuss together. Why not start tonight, over dinner?

He peered first into the bedroom, then the living room. She wasn't there. The bathroom door was shut, so he rapped on it slightly. "Hey, wanna go out to eat tonight?" he called through the door. "Y'know, somewhere nice, to celebrate and all that?"

After a moment's silence, the door unlocked and creaked open. Jane poked out, face freshly splashed with water. "Sure. I'll get changed," she consented in a straight voice. Then she headed into the bedroom and stood before the closet, thumbing through her clothes for some passable evening attire for a pregnant woman.

Jesse lingered in the doorway. "…Can I ask you something?" he ventured. "Whaddya think of 'Christian' as a name?"

Jane turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "That's a boy's name."

"It can be both, can't it?"

"I guess, sometimes. Why, though?" she asked.

"Christian was Com—I mean, my friend I told you about…you know…_that _night? The one who got shot."

She bit her lip and started into space between his head and the top of the doorway.

"We'll talk about it," she finally answered. Then she returned her attention to the closet and selected a knee-length, cobalt blue evening gown. It had a ribbon that tied in the back, and plenty of gather in the skirt to conceal the baby bump.

"That looks good; you should totally wear it," Jesse complimented.

She picked it out of the closet and wordlessly took it to the bathroom to change.

Jesse narrowed his eyes in concern at the bathroom door. He thought he heard her sniffle inside, like she was holding back tears.

"Whoa, did I say something wrong?" he called after her.

"…No," she replied in the most composed way possible. "Just hormones. It's been a lot to take in today. It'll pass."

He reached for the doorknob, his instinct telling him he should be with her at that moment. But, he thought the better of it. He was starting to get the impression that sometimes she'd rather be alone when she cried.


	6. Third Trimester

**_33 Weeks_**

Jane laid in bed, wearing maternity pajamas resembling a circus tent ready to burst at the seam with clowns on unicycles. For the past couple of hours, she'd been listening to the sound of heavy gunfire on the TV in the next room, punctuated by Jesse's boisterous hollers. ("Yeah! Eat grenade, bitch!")

After an eventual ceasefire, the bathroom light went on and she heard him brushing his teeth. Not long afterward he climbed into bed, completing his bedtime ritual with one kiss on her lips and another on her plump belly.

"By the way, Dad called. He says 'Hi'," she informed him.

"He still hate my guts?" Jesse asked, settled into the covers beside her.

Back flat and eyes to the ceiling, she shrugged and tottered her hand in a "so-so" gesture. "He's making his peace," she said. "After all, he _did _send your Xbox from the old place, didn't he?"

He grinned in that boyish way of his. "That was pretty boss. Just in time for the new 'Call of Duty.'"

"So I heard."

He gritted his teeth. "Yeah…didn't mean to get so loud. Paul, Brandon, and Pete—my buddies back home—were all online, so we played a few rounds of Multiplayer. Just to catch up, and stuff."

She smiled. "Well, get those late-night sieges out of your system while you can. Only four weeks to go."

He gave her stomach a gentle rub. "I seriously can't wait to see her." He rested his head against the pillow comfortably. "Bet she'll look just like you. She'll have your eyes and hair, your wicked art talent, and…" he went on, weaving his own dreams.

Things had improved for them both since the day that photo had taken its spot on the fridge, greeting them every morning for breakfast. It was a constant beacon, reminding them both of what Jesse had said outside the OB/GYN: This is what it's all been about.

Two months ago, Jesse had received a call from a Dominica at SoCal Coffee House to announce that the San Fransisco-bound art student had dropped out of school and eloped to New York with a long distance girlfriend, leaving a barista position open. Jesse had seemed hesitant to take the job at first, citing that SoCal Coffee House was "too hipster" and he'd rather hold out for a bartending gig, or something else more his scene. It was at Jane's urging that he had reconsidered. She'd convinced him by rationalizing that it was "easiest to find the job you want when you need it the least." He'd been pushing lattes ever since, giving Jane plenty of the alone time she craved.

Meanwhile, over a series of phone calls, she'd managed to get to something close to eye level with her father. Donald had offered to send them money a few times, which she had accepted not out of necessity but as a gesture of reconciliation. …That, and it quelled any questions he may have had about how exactly they were managing so well in a West Coast city, ostensibly on only a barista's paycheck.

Even she had been pleasantly surprised when he'd shipped them some of their effects from the old duplex, including Jesse's console and games. ("This junk's just been sitting in storage anyway, since I cleaned out the house for some new tenants," Donald had explained in an attached note.)

Nothing could have reignited that childlike gleam in Jesse's eye like taking that Xbox out of the FedEx package had. It had been like Jane was looking once more at the big kid she'd first fallen for in front of a blue screen flashing the phrase, "Acquiring Satellite Signal…" She didn't even mind the noise, or the rambunctious online banter with this "Paul, Brandon and Pete" of his. For the first time in a while, life was starting to feel normal again. God, she'd missed normal.

At over eight months pregnant, though, she still had to contend with swollen, sore feet. The aching gnawed at her ankles even now as she tried to fall asleep.

"Baby," she murmured at the figure dozing off beside her. "Can you get me a Tylenol?"

Jesse mumbled an assent of sorts and dragged out of bed towards the bathroom. She heard him rattling through her pill bottles by the sink.

"Don't see any…" he reported.

"Try the top right drawer."

Jesse never looked in the top right drawer, so he was a little disoriented to roll it open and be confronted with Jane's personal beauty salon. Lipstick, powder, mascara, a hairbrush…he rummaged around them in search of a plain, white pill bottle. He didn't find it, but after branching further to the back of the drawer, he turned up a single paper pouch with one dose inside, bearing the Tylenol logo.

As he picked it up, he had the strangest sense of familiarity. It was months ago, but there had been one other time he was in this drawer: the night Jane had first told him about the baby. He felt a chill. There'd been a heroin needle on the sink, which he put away. In this drawer.

He thought back to the morning afterward, when they'd cleaned out all the drugs and paraphernalia in the house before departing for rehab. He remembered flushing pot and meth, he remembered wrapping up his bong in a trash bag and taking it to a dumpster one block away. But as he tried to grasp a memory of opening this drawer again, taking the needle out and disposing of it, he yielded nothing. So where was it?

He rolled open all the other bathroom drawers. Nothing. It was gone, and he didn't remember getting rid of it.

His heart raced. Forgetting about the Tylenol, he trudged back into the bedroom, silhouetted by the hallway light that fell on Jane's sleepy face.

"There used to be dope in your makeup drawer," he began gravely.

She blinked into wakefulness and lifted her head off the pillow quizzically. "Yeah? And?"

"And it's gone now. Where'd it go? I don't remember seeing it with the rest of the stuff we cleaned out."

Her lips pursed. "…It wasn't," she admitted. "We missed it, and I only found it a few weeks ago."

_"A few weeks ago?" _he repeated.

She sat up defensively, straining against the extra weight in her abdomen. "But I got rid of it when I found it," she appealed.

He moved to the edge of the bed. "Well, why didn't you tell me about it? That's not the kinda stuff we should be keeping from each other."

"I didn't shoot it up, if that's what you're getting worked up about."

"But how do I know for sure?" he persisted.

"Because I'm _telling you_ I didn't. Either you trust me, Jesse, or you don't."

"I mean, I _want _to, but…" He stopped mid-sentence to catch his breath. "But look at my position. You've been insisting on going to the doctor by yourself a lot lately. And I've been at work most of the time, so…fuck. Work." He gasped and looked right in her face, accusingly.

"You were the one who was so gung-ho on me taking this coffee job," he recalled. "We didn't need the money. We still got like half from the deal, and your dad even sent us more. It wasn't about the money, or," he made quotation fingers, "about 'making connections' in town. It was just to get me away from home, wasn't it? So you could do whatever you wanted. Just sneak in a fix whenever I'm not looking. Not like I'd ever find out, huh?"

Her eyes were wide with disbelief. "Jesse, calm down and think about what you just said. Do you realize how insane it sounds?"

"Oh, insane?! Well, if giving a shit what happens to you and _our daughter _makes me insane, then I figure _one _of us should be!" he retorted. "Jane, we're talking about—"

"Okay, just stop!" she interrupted in a loud, commanding voice. "If you say 'our baby' one more goddamn time, I swear I will throw myself down a staircase!"

That shut him right up.

"Jesus Christ, do you think I could _forget _about being pregnant?" she demanded. "I live with it every second of every day! Every time I want to refill my coffee cup! Every time I take out trash bags full of _your_ beer bottles! Every time I smell _your_ cigarettes—which, by the way, you said you'd get rid of _months _ago!"

Jesse stood petrified by her outburst. Sure, they'd argued before, but Jane had usually stayed cold and detached during those fights. Hearing her raise her voice like this now made his face glow red. "Yeah, well…you never said I couldn't do those things," he stammered. "You always acted like nothing was wrong. How was I supposed to know you'd…?"

"I'd what? Been through Hell trying to stay sober all this time? You have no idea what it's been like, doing everything to make sure you get the healthy, happy little princess you want so much. And now you accuse me of shooting tar behind your back?" She flared her nostrils. "Well, let me tell you something, Jesse: I wish I could. I wish I at least had the _option_! But thanks to this kid you put in me, I can't, and I don't!"

She may as well have jabbed a knife in his heart with those words. His face remained blank, and his adam's apple bulged in his throat with each breath. Finally, he just turned and lumbered out of the room, door closed behind him. The TV flickered on just beyond the bedroom wall.

When Jane cooled down enough to decipher her own words, she was seized by remorse. She had just all but told him she didn't want this baby—that she wished she wasn't bringing hischild into the world. Flushed and ashamed, she laid back down and pulled the covers to her chin, then dragged his pillow over to bury her face in. She knew he wouldn't be back to use it tonight.

Beyond the bedroom wall, a beer bottle popped open and the sounds of warfare blared through the speakers. The scent of cigarette smoke permeated the apartment.

Tomorrow, after he'd had time to fume, she would say her Sorrys.

**(***)**

The following morning, the sound of steady scrapes issued from the bathroom. Jane peered in coyly to find Jesse shaving before work. His expression in the mirror was as blank and dismal as if he were on the way to a funeral home.

"Jesse, what I said last night…I take it back," Jane attempted.

"Yeah, sure."

"I was just upset. I didn't mean it."

"Well, you fucking sounded like you did."

That concluded any and all conversations between them for the rest of the week.


	7. Third Trimester (cont)

**_34 Weeks_**

"Jesse, got a sec to talk in the break room?"

"Sure, be right there, Nica." Wrist-deep in soapy dishwater, he withdrew and shook his hands off, then hastily wiped them on his SoCal Coffee House apron. He followed his supervisor out of earshot of the customers.

As far as bosses go, Dominica (or Nica, at her urging) was decent enough. A petite mixed-race woman in her mid-30's, she never yelled, judged or belittled—a novel experience in itself for Jesse—but she had no patience for slackers. On the day she hired him, she'd admitted the reason he'd been chosen over the dozen other applicants was precisely because he _wasn't _among the iPhone-toting, turtleneck-sporting crowd the shop catered to. "I can't tell you how many of our younger customers apply here, just to sit around texting about how 'cool before it was cool' their new job is," she'd complained. "As long as you pull your weight, you'll do fine."

Now, as he sat across from her in the break room, it dawned on him that he'd been distracted at work since…the incident at home last week. He shifted uneasily in his chair. Could that be what this was about?

He was even more unsettled as she opened with, "Jesse, you have been a great worker, but…"

"Lemme guess. I'm fired?" He slumped a little. She eyed him sternly, and he straightened up with an uttered apology.

"As I was saying," she resumed. "You've been a great worker. I'm really impressed with your latte art. Those jack-o-lanterns you did at Halloween were a smash; we've never sold so many pumpkin spice lattes in one day."

He grinned fleetingly, remembering Halloween and all the kids in costume who'd come in for candy and cocoa. He sobered immediately at the possibility of a future lacking fun times like that, with an unhappy Jane and the child she wished she didn't have.

"That's why I wanted to ask you…what the heck's been up with you this week?" Nica continued. "Anyone else, I'd chalk 'em up to 'lazy, entitled hipster' and show 'em the door. Tell 'em to try Starbucks, if that wasn't too mainstream for 'em." She smirked, trying to keep the conversational tone as light as possible. "But you, I can generally count on to be on time and on task. I figured there must be a reason you're suddenly spilling drinks, mixing up orders and sneaking off behind the dumpster for twenty minutes at a time." She leaned in, trying to be inviting and nonthreatening. "Is there something you want to share?"

Jesse wanted very much to share. He'd meant to bring it up to Lee at this week's support group meeting…but it had been impossible to get a moment alone with the counselor, and he didn't dare accuse Jane _again _of shooting up, especially not in front of the rest of the group. Without proof of his poor, pregnant girlfriend's relapse, he had a fair idea of whom they'd side with.

Boss or no, he felt he could confide in Nica. He didn't have many other options, anyway. He scratched the back of his head. "…Last week, Jane sorta threatened to jump down a staircase," he began.

Nica's eyes widened in concern. "I'm sorry to hear that. If she needs a suicide hotline, I have the number for—"

"No, not like that. She doesn't want to kill _herself._" He sighed deeply, staring down at his hands clasped on the table. "She's eight months pregnant. We're having a little girl in not even a month. We…_I_…couldn't wait. And now all of a sudden she basically tells me she doesn't want to be a mother at all."

Nica grit her teeth. "Ouch."

"Yeah," he agreed half-heartedly. "Ouch" barely covered it. "I know this is so not how we planned things would go. But I don't get how she isn't at least a little happy. You hear about, y'know, the 'miracle of life' on nature shows and stuff all the time. And at first you figure, how can something be a miracle when it literally happens every day all over the world?" He leaned in to drag his hands down his face. "But it is. You just never know it until you make it happen yourself. When I first saw that face—that _life_ that's only there because of me—then it was real. It _is _a miracle…and she's acting like I cursed her with it."

"Did you ever tell Jane you feel this way?" she asked gently.

He shook his head. "We haven't exactly been talking much."

A murmur of understanding. "Once again, I'm sorry you're going through this. It can't be easy on you or her. And if there's anything I can do for you both, by all means, say the word." She reached across the table to give him a sincere pat on the arm. "But I need you to try and leave it at the door when you come to work."

"Yeah, no offense Nica, but when the mother of your kid tells you she doesn't want it, you don't just forget that and go grind coffee beans."

"I never said you did. But there's nothing you can do about it on the clock anyway, so why let it fester?" she posed. "Think of being here as taking a break from the stress at home. Carry that weight on your shoulders all the time, and it's bound to drag you down."

He eyed her quizzically. "So, you're not gonna fire me?" he asked.

"And wade through two dozen Liberal Arts majors' applications? Not on your life," the older woman laughed. "In fact, I wanted to give you a chance to get it together. If you want it, of course."

"Sure. But how's that?"

Nica pointed to a poster on the break room wall, advertising in bold edgy print the _KISS: Alive/35 World Tour_. "Were you two going to see KISS tomorrow?" she asked.

"That's already tomorrow?" He looked at the date on the poster. He had seen Gene Simmons' likeness yowling at him from that poster every day since he started this job, but the date had always been engraved in his mind as some distant future event. "No. Forgot all about it, with all that's been going on," he admitted.

"Well, my girlfriend and I got our tickets months ago," Nica explained. "I was just going to close up shop early, because it was probably going to be a ghost town in here anyway. But if you wanna hold down the fort for the evening—get a little break from home and give Jane her space—I'd be happy to give you the extra hours."

He looked at her, surprised. "You sure?" A supervisor…trusting him alone in the shop?

She shrugged. "Why not? You know how the register works, you're no slouch at mixing the right ingredients…"

Of course, he'd withheld his _previous _experience with mixing ingredients.

"…And if it doesn't look like anyone's coming in, text me and let me know, then you can just close up and go home," she finished. "In return, just promise me you'll stay focused from now on, and cut those smoke breaks down to ten minutes, when we're not busy." She pressed a spare key to the shop down on the table between them. "So, is it a deal?"

Jesse was suddenly elated he'd chosen to entrust his problems to Nica. Never could he recall being trusted with a responsibility like this. His parents and Mr. White had circled him like birds in the sky, waiting to claw apart his every mistake. He thought he'd left that perpetual judgment behind when he and Jane had moved here…but even _they _had begun to drift apart now. Being handed this spare key to SoCal Coffee House was like being handed the key to the city.

He picked it up. "Deal. I'll do my best, yo."

"Nobody asked for more than that." She winked. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, I believe there's some dishes in the sink, _not _washing themselves. Get outta here."

**(***)**

That night, Jesse told Jane he was working an extra day, and she nodded without looking up from her sketchbook. He spent the rest of the night playing Xbox, while she soaked in the bathtub and then went to bed.

**(***)**

The next day, as Nica had predicted, the shop saw little more than the odd straggler come through its doors. Jesse wiped the tables, made a pyramid of paper cups and was reduced to pivoting back and forth in a rotating wicker chair, bored, by the time it was barely dark. A bag of whole coffee beans on the table in front of him, he occasionally flicked one in the air to try and catch it in his mouth. After awhile, a spoon catapult was integrated into this procedure.

Then his cell rang, and he sprang to answer it. "So-Ca—I mean, hello?"

"Yes, is this Jesse Pinkman?" an unfamiliar voice female voice inquired.

"Yeah?"

"This is Nurse Dodson, calling from USC Medical Center. We've just admitted a patient named Jane Margolis. Is that your girlfriend?"

He froze. "Why, what's wrong?"

"The patient has asked us to call and inform you that she has gone into labor."

A shock jolted through him. "Now? But she's not supposed to be due for another three weeks!"

"I'm afraid you're looking at a premature birth. It's happening now."


	8. Birth

**_Birth_**

The "CLOSED" sign at So-Cal Coffee House swayed back and forth on the door as the lone occupant bolted out the front. Jesse dove into his car and started the engine. Shutting off the loud hip-hop that kicked in automatically, he lunged into traffic.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me…!"

He didn't get more than a few blocks before he found himself bumper to bumper with an entire lane of automobiles of every shape and size. The procession looked like it reached for miles, and it was stalled.

"Dammit! C'mon! Move, bitch!" He punched his car horn. The car in front of him crept forward, then stopped. Jesse followed, then tried the horn again. This time the driver flipped him off.

He growled, slammed an aggravated fist on the dashboard and slumped his head onto the steering wheel. Jane needed him. Their daughter was coming early, and he absolutely had to be there for both of them.

A horn blasted behind him to alert him to move. He had barely let up on the brake before stopping directly behind the next car again. Inside one of the other cars, he could hear the passengers singing the chorus to "I Wanna Rock And Roll All Night (And Party Every Day)."

His kid was about to be born…but no amount of inching forward, assaulting his horn or yelling obscenities could change the fact that every KISS concert-goer in the city sat between him and the hospital.

**(***)**

Jane gulped in several deep breaths and lay back against the inclined bed. She wiped her forehead, drenched with sweat, on the sleeve of her hospital robe. Her face puckered with the urge to openly weep. _Not yet, you don't_, she chastised herself. The contractions weren't that severe yet, and the nurses had told her nonstop since she was admitted to relax between them.

But relaxation was made utterly impossible by the several emotions sparring in her mind.

She was angry at Jesse for putting her in this position, making her endure eight and a half months of maternity misery, and then not being here. She was angry at herself for giving him reason to pick up an extra work shift today and not to be with her, when any combination of the words "I'm sorry," "I love you" or "I can't wait to be a mom" would have easily kept him at home.

She was remorseful for implying that she'd rather go back to being a junkie than go on being a mother. This child was the only reason they were sober (maybe even the only reason they were alive) and in those few words she'd shouted last week she'd insinuated it wasn't worth it.

She was scared…partly of the hours of pain and suffering ahead, but more so of facing them alone. Above all else, she was scared of the risk of losing their baby in this preterm delivery. After a week of almost total silence between herself and Jesse—after she'd virtually said she didn't want this baby—she couldn't bear to imagine how deeply that loss would cut him.

**(***)**

_"Hey, if you're trying to sell me something, I got four little words for you: Do Not Call List. However, if you're cool, leave it at the beep." Beeeep._

Jesse mouthed "Shit," smacked his phone shut and tossed it into the passenger seat. He didn't expect Jane to have her phone on or with her in the hospital, but it was a shot.

If he ever saw Mr. White again, the first thing he'd do would be to apologize for putting him in this exact same position once. His old partner had also missed the birth of his daughter because, instead of standing by to complete their deal of the century with the _Pollos_ owner, Jesse had been in bed with Jane, sleeping off the aftereffects of his first dose of heroin.

_Heroin._

He went numb. Jane had sworn up and down she threw out that smack in the bathroom drawer when she found it. But what if she didn't? What if she _did _use it, and that's why their baby was being born too soon?

And even if she had, what difference did it make now? There had been eight and a half months worth of missed opportunities for him to support her and help her stay clean. He had promised to quit smoking alongside her, then never so much as bothered to buy a box of Nicorette. And he had been the one to stash that needle away in the drawer to begin with…making it _twice _in their relationship he had lured her into a relapse. If she did relapse, and if their kid was born a premature addict, it was all his fault.

From the passenger seat, his phone chirped with a new text. Since he still wasn't going anywhere, he checked it. It was from Nica. "In line at door. Just checking in. Doing ok?"

In his frantic rush out the door, he'd forgotten to tell her he was closing early. "Closed. Jane in labor," he texted back.

Within seconds, his generic ringtone announced a call from his boss. Upon answering, he heard muffled cheers and commotion in the background. "Did I read that right?" Nica called over the noise outside the concert. "Jane's in labor? I thought she was due next month!"

"She-!" he began to shout back, but then realized she could hear him just fine. "She was. It's premature."

"Oh no!" Well, don't worry about work! You go and take care of her, pronto!" Nica instructed him.

"I'm trying to, but it's like traffic from Hell out here!" Jesse complained.

"Yeah, it's gonna be backed up awhile. You probably should have taken the Metro Rail."

He paused. Oh, yeah…Los Angeles had a subway. "I didn't think of that," he admitted. "I was kinda freaking out. Actually, I still am. I mean, what if something goes wrong, and I'm not there?"

"I'm sure Jane and the baby will be fine," Nica assured him. "Doctors nowadays are way better equipped to deal with preterm births than they used to be."

"But what if the whole reason it's going down like this is because I screwed up? My kid's coming early, and she could be born real sick and weak all because of…" he searched for a more benign example than heroin. "…I dunno, secondhand smoke."

"You know what you sound like to me? Every freaking new parent I've ever met," she proclaimed lightheartedly. "The good ones, anyway."

Now he knew his boss was cracked. Him? A good parent…who gets his girlfriend and unborn baby hooked on drugs? "Nica, I'm serious here. If I told you all the stuff I was doing before Jane got pregnant—"

"It wouldn't matter. Everyone worries they're not ready for this. What sets the good ones apart is _why _they worry. If you're scared you'll ruin your daughter's life, it just shows you're already looking out for her. Congratulations, Jesse…that's called being a good parent."

At this assurance, he couldn't help smiling. "Thanks."

"No problem. And, hey, I expect a slice of cake when you two have that birthday party."

After the call ended, Jesse clung to Nica's words. He was a parent, one who may have made mistakes. He wouldn't get it all right, but he'd never stop trying, and he'd never stop being there for his kid. It may not be much…but it was more than he ever got from his own parents.

Two hours later, he finally arrived in the USC Medical Center parking lot and raced to the welcome desk. "Uh, Jane Margolis' room?" he panted, out of breath.

The receptionist scoured a computer screen. "You're the father?"

"Yes."

"End of the hall, to the right."


End file.
